Alaskan Mountain Pursuit by Elizabeth Goddard (good e books to read .txt) 📗

“Clay.”

Summer’s voice was tense, short, and he chanced a quick look in her direction before returning his eyes to the road. “What’s wrong?” He couldn’t see any obvious answers. She seemed fine.

“The car behind us. He keeps getting closer.”

“Is it a man behind the wheel? Can you see him?” There was still the possibility that the car behind them was an innocent bad driver.

But if it wasn’t, at least Clay wanted to know if they could identify him.

“I can’t really tell, but I think it’s a man.”

“You can’t tell?”

“His windshield is tinted, I think? Or maybe it’s the way the sun is hitting. But no, I can’t see anything clearly distinguishing. I’m sorry. Do you think it’s him?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced in the rearview mirror. Summer was right, Clay couldn’t see anything, either, except the fact that someone was in the driver’s seat. “Could be?” He took a left on the next road that would lead them to town, twisting around a hairpin turn.

Did the car edge closer?

Clay hit the gas, accelerating a little.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not going to keep going slow and risk him hitting us here.”

He twisted around the curve, looked down the road that lay head of them. After this stretch of road there was only one more spot where losing control of the car would be truly disastrous.

He came up to that danger spot, tightened his grip on the wheel and glanced in the rearview.

The car was accelerating. And Clay had nowhere to go. He didn’t dare risk speeding up here lest he send them careening over the mountainside without any help from whomever was tailing them.

“Hang on, Summer!”

The car behind them hit them, lurched them forward, and Clay fought to maintain control as their car slid right, toward the guardrail, barely clipping it. The mountainside dropped off there, and Clay knew if they hit the rail too hard, he wouldn’t be able to keep their car on the road.

He jerked the wheel hard left, hitting the car that had been behind them as it sped up and disappeared down the road that led down the hillside. He tried to catch a glimpse of the license plate, but all he noticed was that it was an Alaska tag, one of the gold ones with blue numbers, which he couldn’t read because it was covered in mud. That didn’t narrow it down much.

The threat gone, Clay slowed their car to a stop, pulling as close to the side of the road as he dared. Exhaled.

Looked at Summer. She was crying.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m just ready for this to be over. I don’t understand how someone could want another human being dead, especially not the way this guy does.” She let out a shuddering breath and Clay wanted to hold her hand, maybe pull her to him, tell her it would be okay.

But he couldn’t. He hadn’t earned the right. And anyway, he couldn’t stay here on the side of the road. They needed to report a crime—and they needed to move away from this location, in case the killer was still watching them.

But even if they’d had all the time in the world, and he’d had every right to comfort her, he wouldn’t have been able to tell Summer that everything would be okay.

Because Clay didn’t know if it would be or not.

He drove straight to the police department, not just because the attack needed to be reported, but also because he knew if their attacker decided to follow them again, he almost certainly wouldn’t follow them to the police department. Clay might not be able to control the madman who was after Summer, nor was he really able to minimize the danger to her nearly as much as he’d like to, but he could give her a few minutes of safety at the police department, a few minutes to catch her breath.

And then they’d have to face reality again.

They were met once more by Detective Walters and Clay gave him a quick rundown of what had happened. He motioned for them to follow him to his office again and they both did so. This time another officer appeared and asked if Summer wanted coffee or tea. She asked for tea and when the officer brought it back, Summer held it tightly, like the warmth of the drink in her hand was comforting her.

Clay had turned down the refreshments. He couldn’t drink anything at a time like this, couldn’t relax in the slightest when the threat level had risen once again. How many more times could Summer weather an attack like that? Statistically speaking, how many close calls could they have before they didn’t escape alive?

Clay didn’t want to think about it. Instead he made himself think through what needed to be done, starting with other people who could be in danger.

He looked up at the officer. “Can you send a car over to check on Amanda Holbrook’s sister? We were followed from her house.”

The officer nodded and left to arrange it. Clay waited with Summer, who was quiet, eyes wide. She took a long sip of tea and then put the cup in front of her again, holding it in both hands and staring straight ahead.

“What?” It didn’t seem right to ask what was wrong when the answer to that question was unfortunately more obvious than he’d like it to be. But it seemed like something more was bothering her than just the attack itself.

“I can’t believe we might have put her in danger.” She shook her head.

“No, we didn’t, you didn’t. No one did except the deranged man who is behind this.” Clay had more he wanted to say, but he kept it short, knowing from experience that direct messages were the best for this situation. She was still too shaken for more detailed explanations.

Fortunately they soon learned that Amanda Holbrook was safe. APD promised they’d ramp up patrols in her neighborhood also and communicate with her on